


Life goes on - A Six Thatchers Companion Piece

by Herk



Series: The Life and Love of Mycroft Holmes [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode Companion piece s04e01 The Six Thatchers, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, embedding the episode into my headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: When Sherlock is giddy about Moriarty's love letter and the promise of the most exciting GAME it's not exactly easy to deal with - especially for Mycroft. So it's a good thing he has Gregory at his side.So yeah I haven't given up on providing companion pieces for all of series 4.





	1. The Tribunal

**Author's Note:**

> While this fic starts a week after "I only want this day to end", there will be huge time gaps (like in the episode) in which most of the rest of my Mystrade-verse takes place. It needs a tiny bit of squeezing and pushing but except for a few minor details it can fit just so.
> 
> As always thanks to Dimar for catching the worst atrocities.

It was a week after ‘the incident’. There hadn’t been any further hints at Moriarty but that was of little consolidation. Sherlock had nearly killed himself with the drugs. John and Mary - with the help of Molly and Mrs. Hudson had put Sherlock through cold withdrawal. Mycroft and Greg had only been informed about the progress though. Sherlock didn’t want his big brother - and by proxy that included Greg - around.

 

Mycroft was too busy trying to smooth everything over anyway to participate actively. And Greg had long since resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t really help the brilliant detective. At least he could be there for Mycroft and do some good there. So on the day of the official meeting to settle the matter of Magnussen’s death, Greg Lestrade made sure he was at home when his partner returned.

 

When he heard the key turning, Greg got up to greet Mycroft. He met with a furiously fuming Holmes.

 

“My, how was the…” 

 

Mycroft’s expression made him stop. Usually he was exempt from the ‘Are you  _ really  _ that stupid?’-look when it came to the older brother at least. But apparently all bets were off when Mycroft got annoyed enough. The British Government untied his shoes, ignoring his lover for the moment.

 

“OK - stupid question.” Greg put a hand in Mycroft’s shoulder reassuringly. “What happened?” He was really worried by his partner’s extreme reaction.

 

The government official sighed. “He walked free. There never was any direct involvement of Sherlock in Magnussen’s death - officially.” He walked into the living room with Greg following. When he sank onto the couch, loosening his tie, Lestrade instinctively started massaging the tense shoulders through the shirt. Mycroft shrugged the touch off.

 

“Don’t, please.”

 

Greg immediately stopped. If Mycroft was too tense to allow a massage then things were really bad. Usually he quite enjoyed the comforting touch. He sat down next to My and waited patiently. Mycroft’s breakdown still fresh on his mind.

 

“If I believed in reincarnation, I’d be convinced by now that I must have done something truly atrocious in my last life to deserve Sherlock as a brother. The average five year old has more of a concept of consequences.”

 

Greg gently squeezed Mycroft’s hand. He knew all about Sherlock’s shortcomings. He liked the younger man. In fact he was irrationally fond of him. But he understood Mycroft’s frustration all too well. When the older Holmes didn’t continue, Greg decided to address more practical matters instead of pushing.

 

“Have you eaten anything?”

 

“A small salad for lunch. I could do with some dinner.”

 

Greg smiled. Seeing Mycroft express an interest in food calmed down at least some of his worries. He didn’t feel like cooking though.

 

“How about take-out?”

 

“Italian?”

 

“I was thinking Indian actually. Treating ourselves a bit.”

 

Mycroft’s eyes widened. Usually he preferred Italian but from time to time he really enjoyed a good Indian or Thai dish. And now that Greg mentioned it, he realised it was exactly what he wanted right now. His expression must have given him away because Gregory broke into a wide grin before he could say anything.

 

“Khorma?”

 

“Chicken.” Mycroft agreed.

 

When Greg returned a moment later with the take out menus still in his hand, he found Mycroft lying on the couch. Once he came close the British Government pulled his legs up to make space. Only when Greg had sat down he found his lover’s legs in his lap.

 

“It’ll be about 40 minutes.”

 

“Closer to 50 actually, given the current traffic but that’s OK.”

 

Greg smiled and began massaging Mycroft’s feet. He couldn’t help himself, he enjoyed touching his lover, giving some form of physical comfort. And the other man didn’t seem to mind any more. He kept staring at the ceiling unable to relax though.

 

“There are half a dozen people in this country operating on the same level as me. We all have different specialties but our competences overlap. And we all keep a wary eye on each other lest one of us goes rogue and turns into a danger. Today my ‘brilliant’ little brother had the terrific idea to  tweet  while he was in front of a tribunal consisting of myself and two of those people.

 

I have no doubt that by now the rest of them will have heard of his behaviour.”

 

Greg gently stroke Mycroft’s legs. “I can’t imagine that left a very positive impression.”

 

“Indeed. I spent the last week in equal parts trying to save Sherlock and to make it absolutely clear beyond doubt that I wasn’t doing so for sentimental reasons. Because if either ‘Porlock’ or ‘Love’ or any of the others ever believed I’d put personal interests before my duties, my career would end then and there.”

 

“Which in turn would mean you couldn’t fulfil your duties  _ and  _ couldn’t look out for Sherlock anymore.”

 

“Exactly. Which is why I can’t allow for such doubts.” Mycroft combed through his hair still looking at the ceiling. “I even was moderately successful in convincing them that I wasn’t too deeply involved emotionally.”

 

Greg couldn’t hold the snort back. “So you lied.”

 

“Pretty convincingly - or at least convincingly enough. That is until Sherlock’s little performance today. Not only did he manage to kill any good will they might have held for him but I’m afraid I lost my countenance to a point that any resemblance of me being detached and in control went right out of the window.”

 

“Shit. I’m sorry, My.” The DI knew exactly how important his partner’s image was to him. Not only was Mycroft obsessed with being in control but his official image was a huge part of what made his work possible. If people who played in the same league as him really got the impression that Mycroft Holmes was in any way vulnerable, then his position - his whole life - was in danger. Sherlock’s thoughtless little games might cost his big brother far more than just a few nerves. “What happens now?”

 

He didn’t ask whether Mycroft had a plan. Mycroft Holmes  _ always  _ had plans.

 

“We’ll see. After Sherlock left I managed some damage control. But it was costly. And I’m on very, very thin ice. I needed to remind people of favours owed and services provided. I’m in the red when it comes to the balancing of favours for the first time in over fifteen years. And it still was barely enough. I will have to rely heavily on John and Mary, Miss Hooper, you and others to keep Sherlock safe for now. I can’t be caught bending the rules regarding Sherlock even in the slightest for some time to come.”

 

They both stayed silent for a while.

 

“He’s clean right now. And John and Mary will make sure that he stays that way.” Greg tried to calm his lover’s worries.

 

“I’m not sure if drugs will be the biggest problem.” Mycroft confessed. “He was clean today and but sailed on a wave of euphoria that I’ve never witnessed before.”

 

“Sherlock and euphoria doesn’t sound good.”

 

“He was giddy and hyperactive like he was suddenly eight years old again and his birthday was fast approaching.”

 

Greg bit his lip. “He might have found something new - beside his usual suspects.”

 

“He might. For the time being chances are higher that it’s the ‘Game’. Moriarty sending him a love letter from beyond the grave - in his mind - has to be the best thing ever to happen to him.”

 

“The best thing ever to happen to him has to be a draw between John walking into his life and you being his big brother.”

 

A small smile showed on Mycroft’s face. “It’s very nice of you to say that but as much as I would like to believe so, we both know that John can reach Sherlock in a way I never could.”

 

“Don’t sell yourself short, My. Without you Sherlock wouldn’t have made it long enough to ever meet him.”

 

“He’s always been lucky in that regard. People care for him. For someone that disinterested in ordinary human beings, he charms them oh so easily.”

 

“Well, I for one care about  _ you _ .”

 

“Even you, my well-beloved, cared for Sherlock first.”

 

“As Sherlock  _ and  _ you point out time and again, I’m a daft, slow idiot.”

 

Seeing the shameful blush on his lover’s cheeks, Greg laughed warmly. “Sherlock charms people - that’s easy. You won me over the hard way - by being yourself.” His voice grew somber. “Don’t worry too much, Love. I’ll keep an eye on him and the four of us will keep him out of too much trouble.”

 

“Thank you Gregory.”

 

*** 

 

The next weeks and months Greg did his best to keep a closer look on Sherlock. He subtly egged colleagues like Dimmock and Hopkins to rely on the consulting detective more. Some of the cases he would have usually tried to solve with his team. But shoving as many cases as possible at the younger Holmes seemed the best way to keep him out of real trouble. Even if it was anything but good for Greg’s career.

 

In the quieter phases life went on more or less normally.

 

Mary and John had obviously worked out their differences and happily prepared for the baby. Greg was shocked when he learned what their crisis had been about and disappointed that no one had told before but in the end everyone involved was his friend. Damn him for falling in with a crowd of lunatics - it was his own fault really.

 

When Rosie arrived, Sherlock reduced his caseload for a while meaning that Greg had some more time to focus on his job. But inevitably after a couple of weeks the younger Holmes brother grew restless and giddy and Greg had to interfere more actively again.

 

The regular updates he gave Mycroft reminded him of a time before the Reichenbach disaster, when the two brothers were barely on speaking terms and he acted as Mycroft’s spy.

 

Now the distance had less to do with Sherlock acting like a resentful child and more to do with the reality of Mycroft’s position. And of course with the consequences of Sherlock acting like a bratty child on a sugar high.

 

As unusual as it was, Greg found it interesting to watch Mycroft and Sherlock interact almost solely in ‘normal’ social situations - like at his birthday. A part of him wondered if Mycroft’s forced break in surveilling and mingling might do their relationship some good.

 

Then he witnessed how Sherlock had more and more ‘hyper’ phases and he knew once again how important Mycroft’s supervision actually was.


	2. Forensic Officer?

“I think Sherlock’s mind might have finally jumped the shark.”

 

Mycroft immediately looked alarmed. “What happened?”

 

“When I went to Baker Street today, he began ‘deducing’ me and started babbling about a lunch date with a female, brunette forensic officer.”

 

“What?”

 

“You should have seen John’s face - although I doubt I looked much different. He acted as if he didn’t know about us.”

 

Mycroft furrowed his brow. He couldn’t imagine that Sherlock would simply delete his whole relationship with Lestrade. He was already calling his driver.

 

“I think I should have a word with my wayward brother.”

 

Gregory nodded. Sherlock’s behaviour had been quite unsettling.

 

***

 

“I wondered how long it would take you to get here.” Sherlock stood at the window, his violin under his chin, his back to the room.

 

Mycroft stopped in the middle of the room. “You wondered?”

 

“So many variables to consider - how much did I confuse Lestrade? Did he even notice? Would he tell you even if he was concerned or would he try to shield you? Would you take the bait or not? The traffic… Oh stop frowning, Mycroft.”

 

The older brother let out a sigh of relief. “So this was nothing but a ruse?”

 

Sherlock didn’t turn around but Mycroft could see the faint hints of a smirk in his brother’s jawline as well as in the reflection in the window.

 

“A female, brunette forensic officer? Oh please, Molly would never go out with him. She doesn’t go for taken men.”

 

“How reassuring. Now is there any specific reason for that little charade of yours or did you just want to see how fast I’d come running?”

 

“Oh a specific reason - definitely.”

 

“And?” Mycroft wasn’t exactly amused that his brother had frightened Gregory like this.

 

“To see how fast you’d come running, of course.”

 

Mycroft was just about to give Sherlock a piece of his mind when he realised something off about his brother’s voice.

 

“And was the conclusion to your little experiment to your satisfaction?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

Mycroft was fascinated. This wasn’t Sherlock provoking him. This was Sherlock thinking out loud.

 

“I’m not sure which conclusion was the more desirable one, so it’s difficult to tell.”

 

Mycroft smiled. “At least you can be reasonably sure there’s no confirmation bias then.”

 

Sherlock’s smile mirrored his own. “I guess there’s that.”

 

There was no real emergency. Mycroft could just go home. He took a few steps and sat down instead. Taking in his environment he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

 

“Another experiment regarding decomposition of body parts?”

 

Sherlock dropped into the armchair opposite his brother. “One upside of John not living here anymore. No one is nagging me about the smells.”

 

***

 

When Mycroft came home late in the evening, Gregory was still up watching telly, waiting for him.

 

“You did get my text, didn’t you?”

 

His fiancé nodded. “I’m relieved to hear he’s OK but what was that all about then?”

 

To his utter surprise his question provoked a small rueful smile. “Apparently my inability to monitor my brother as closely as I would like didn’t escape his attention. Although he didn’t quite grasp the reasons behind it.”

 

Gregory waited for him to continue. Sometimes Mycroft was surprised when his fiancé wouldn’t follow his thoughts. He knew of course that Gregory was no Holmes but since he definitely wasn’t a ‘goldfish’ either and so often understood him so completely, he sometimes forgot how much of an explanation he actually needed.

 

“When I didn’t react to any of his escapades which I’m sure he had during his little adventures, he wasn’t sure if that was because I didn’t notice or because I didn’t care. Involving you was an experiment to determine which one it was. He knew I would certainly learn of his erratic behaviour from you.”

 

“He just wanted to know…”

 

“Whether I still cared. I found it heartwarming in a way.”

 

“Your brother really had me worried with that little stunt. He could have just asked.”

 

Mycroft’s expression was lenient. “No - he really couldn’t.”

 

Of course he couldn’t. That would have meant admitting that he actually cared. Greg sighed.

 

“I hate your family.”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

Seeing Mycroft rather relaxed and happy, Greg couldn’t help but tease him.

 

“And what facts let you to that brilliant deduction?”

 

“The fact that you said ‘yes’ when I asked you to become a part of it, betrothed-mine. I know it’s a subtle hint and many would miss it completely but I am a genius.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had another (first) attempt to explain the forensic officer bit within my canon, I wasn't quite happy with it. Then this happened and it fits pretty much as perfectly as possible. I am content with this version.
> 
> Since they are engaged, this obviously takes place after 'Oliver' (just for those of you who try to keep track).


	3. The Busts

“There was another one.”

 

Mycroft looked up from his newspaper. I didn’t take him long to figure out what his husband was talking about. “A bust.”

 

“Of our dear former iron Maggie.”

 

Mycroft’s lips distorted in distaste. He had never been a fan of the politician but Gregory’s informal irony nevertheless seemed a bit lacking of respect to a deceased former head of state.

 

“I have no idea  _ what  _ your brother thinks is behind this but it has him all excited.”

 

“Oh Sherlock thinks it’s about the Black Pearl of the Borgias obviously.”

 

“Obviously? You are drifting into arrogant sod territory again, My.”

 

The British Government smiled. He and Gregory had grown comfortable enough around each other that he could utter such words in good humour, early enough to warn his husband before he would accidentally annoy him to a serious degree.

 

“I asked him a while ago to keep an eye out, so has DI Hopkins as far as I know. I have to confess the theory is quite seductive. The pearl would easily fit into such a bust. And Sherlock loves neat solutions.”

 

“You don’t think it is the pearl though.” Greg might not be a genius but he at least could read his husband.

 

Mycroft smiled warmly. “I have recently acquired some new information. I’m reasonably sure the pearl is somewhere in or around Copenhagen at the moment.”

 

“Then what are the busts about?” Greg took a sip of tea and sat down next to Mycroft on the couch.

 

“I haven’t got enough data to come up with a reasonable hypothesis.”

 

Greg chuckled. “Someone else would have just said ‘I have no idea”, Love”

 

Mycroft shrugged with a slightly impish smile. “I have no idea, Love.” He leaned in for a kiss before returning to studying his paper. “I’m sure, Sherlock will figure it out eventually.”

 

“And I’ll be there making sure, he won’t start a war or kill himself in the process.”

 

“A fact for which I’m eternally grateful especially with my reach still restrained regarding him and Sherlock being even more annoying than usual.”

 

“I’ve seen worse.”

 

Mycroft sighed. “Over the last year and a half?”

 

“What I’m trying to say, My-Love, is that while Sherlock is prone to mood swings and currently on the more brattish end of the scale things will get better again. They always do.” He kissed his husband. “He went through that charade to make sure you still care. He came to the wedding and actually behaved himself. The Moriarty message just has him acting like a two year old on a sugar high. But there are worse things.”

 

Mycroft leaned into his husband’s embrace. It had been months since the tweeting debacle. Gregory had never spotted any signs that Sherlock was high on anything but the thrill of the game and drunk on his own brilliance. He really should stop being such a worrywart. His brother was an adult - more or less. He was married now to a gorgeous loving man. Maybe it was about time that he thought of himself before he thought about his brother for a change.

 

There were so many things in his life demanding his attention all the time that it left little enough time to spend with the man he planned to share the rest of his life with.

 

With a conscious effort of will Mycroft shoved all thoughts of Queen and country as well as wayward siblings out of his mind and let his fingers start to unbutton Gregory’s shirt.

 

*

 

When Gregory entered his home study without as much as waiting for an answer to his knock, Mycroft immediately knew something had happened.

 

“Your brother is fine.”

 

Trust his husband to get the important information across first. Mycroft waited for him to continue.

 

“There was another incident with a bust and he actually caught the guy in the act. He attacked your brother and managed to escape.”

 

“Let me guess, Sherlock only saw it fit to inform you after the fact.”

 

“Actually he called us for back-up early on, we were still too late. I had hoped we would catch him quickly but your brother thinks that’s hopeless.”

 

“Why?”

 

“The man used to work with Mary.”

 

Mycroft’s expression hardened. Mary’s team should have been completely wiped out regarding to his original intel. But after meeting Mary in London that afternoon two years ago had made him reevaluate that data. Maybe it would be necessary to do so once again.

 

He remembered A.G.R.A. well enough.

 

“Gregory?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“If Sherlock is right… be careful. Be very, very careful.”

 

Both of them had dangerous jobs. Both of them lead lives full of risks in their own way.

 

This was the first time Mycroft had felt the need to warn him about someone.

 

Greg nodded. “I will.”

 

*

 

It became very apparent how serious this particular mess was when Sherlock came to Mycroft for help.

 

He hadn’t done so from his own volition since they had started the whole Moriarty ruse.

 

It was a risky thing. Sherlock still was a sore point between him and his peers but since this involved A.G.R.A. - something under Lady Smallwood’s responsibility and something which he had warned against time and again - he doubted that anyone would look too closely if he started intervening on his brother’s behalf. There was too much blame to go around on that one.

 

So he decided to actually intervene as much as he could afford - as if there ever could be any doubt about that.

 

He knew on a certain level that this meant her past was catching up with Mary. Her survival became less likely with each passing hour.

 

Yet the last couple of years had changed Mycroft. Despite his better knowledge he allowed himself to cling to hope for the time being. There was no need to trouble Sherlock or Gregory - not as long as there was a chance. So while he talked with his husband he kept the most likely ultimate conclusion to himself.

 

“Mary is gone?” Greg could hardly believe it.

 

“She won’t stay gone. Sherlock and John will bring her home.”

 

“How?” Greg knew pretty well what Mary was capable of, what kind of training she had.

 

A small smile played on Mycroft’s lips. “A little misdirection, a bit of planning, and the best micro technology her Majesty’s Government can provide.”

 

“You got involved?”

 

“Sherlock came to me a few days ago,” Mycroft confessed. “We put in a couple of fail-safes in case Mary would act irrationally. I didn’t say anything up until now to respect Sherlock’s wish to keep this as private as possible. Apologies.”

 

“Mycroft Holmes - while I get your reasoning - the next time your brother comes up with such a shitty request as this you better tell him to forget about keeping this a secret from me. I’m sick and tired of these games. I’m family and will hardly go on and shout it from the rooftops.”

 

The British Government cringed at his husband’s words and tone. “I  _ am  _ sorry, Gregory.”

 

Greg grimaced. He couldn’t stay too mad at Mycroft for any amount of time and worrying about Mary was bad enough without them squabbling. He leaned in to kiss the other man on his forehead. “You better be.”

 

The government official leaned against his husband with a sigh. He constantly worried about his brother, John, and Mary and he was beyond grateful to have someone at his side to share his burden, someone who understood.

 

“Mary is a big girl and Sherlock has John to look after him. I’m sure they’ll all be alright and home faster than we would anticipate.”

 

“Thank you, Gregory.”


	4. The End

 

Standing in the blue half light of a hallway in the London Aquarium, Mycroft Holmes ended his phone call. He had done everything in his power to ensure the ambulance arriving as fast as possible. It was completely irrelevant of course. Mary was dead by now and even her husband’s frantic attempts to save her meant nothing. He could barely hear the commotion inside the room but he could see the scene within his mind’s eye perfectly. John Watson all so human blaming his best friend for not being able to pull off a miracle. Sherlock as shocked by his fallibility as the good doctor. Mary lying in her own life’s blood.

 

He was Mycroft Holmes. The British Government. Pure calculated, detached mind.

 

Mycroft Holmes didn’t care.

 

Everyone knew that.

 

So right now Mycroft couldn’t afford to go back inside. If he did, people would see his inability to deal with violence, with death, up close. He was far more likely to throw up then to provide any meaningful assistance to John, Sherlock, or the police.

 

But this was about family. He thought about Gregory, about what he owed the people he did care about. 

 

Years of practise made it possible for him to keep his almost impassive facade as he took at least a few steps inside again, his phone still in his hand.

 

He was just in time to witness Mary’s last breath and John’s primal reaction.

 

A few years ago he wouldn’t have been able to comprehend what drove a man to this level of pain. A few years ago he hadn’t opened his heart to Gregory yet. His husband looked across the room, checking on him as their eyes met.

 

He might not have liked Mary exactly but he had respected her. They certainly had been closer than he was to anyone else of his brother’s ilk. Yet right now the only thing he could think of was Gregory.

 

He would have never learned about Gregory’s feelings if it wasn’t for John and Mary’s wedding. He pitied John and his loss pained Mycroft yet at the same time he was infinitely grateful that it was John mourning not himself. The thought of losing his spouse the way John had was petrifying.

 

Gregory right here in the same room, solid and steady as a rock in his presence despite his own pain was the one thing keeping him from breaking. 

 

Gregory’s warm, compassionate, brown eyes holding his own gaze until the ambulance arrived and the hectic comings and goings broke the hold this scene held over them all.

 

Mycroft worked on auto-pilot. He registered how the ambulanceman took care of John Watson, how Gregory’s people took that dreadful woman away, how the ambulancewoman called in for a hearse. He was also the only person who watched his brother slip away otherwise unnoticed.

 

His mind worked perfectly and he was able to give all the right answers. He wondered if this was what shock felt like for the affected or if he was just truly unaffected after those first few moments. It was a question he wouldn’t even have bothered asking a few years back.

 

Greg had faced violence like this before. He was a member of Scotland Yard. He did everything his job required him to do. He crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s and he handed over the reins of this operation as quickly as possible because he was personally tied to the victim and everything else would be unprofessional.

 

Mycroft used a few quiet moments to inform Anthea of the current status quo. There was no way he would return to his office tonight, probably not even tomorrow. Although he had no fixed appointments it was still important to keep his PA in the loop.

 

Only when all formalities were taken care of Mycroft and Greg left the aquarium; outside their driver was waiting.

 

The drive went by silently, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Yet Mycroft not only registered the closeness of his spouse, the way their shoulders touched, but he actually appreciated it. It took almost the entirety of the ride for him to realise that Gregory needed this comfort as much as himself.

 

The British Government was surprised by this new insight and decided that taking his husband’s hand into his own was an appropriate response. The answering squeeze told him that he was right in his assessment.

 

He didn’t let go of the hand when they arrived and exited the car. He pointedly ignored what his driver might think. He avoided public displays of affection as a rule but today he decided that even this rule merited an exception.

 

Mycroft managed to open the door without letting go off his husband’s hand. He was sure that he had looked more dignified before than fidgeting with a key in his non-dominant hand but he managed. Gregory didn’t comment, just leaned his head against his husband’s shoulder.

 

Once they were inside Greg let go long enough to get out of his jacket. While Mycroft slipped out of his coat, Greg just dropped his own to the floor.

 

“I need a drink.”

 

For once Mycroft didn’t pick up after his husband but just slipped out of his shoes and followed Gregory into the living room.

 

He took the offered glass and took a deep swig of the honey coloured liquid. The warmth of the alcohol travelling down his throat was soft and comforting. Mycroft had never believed in cheap or mediocre liquor.

 

Greg dropped on the couch unceremoniously. Mycroft sat down next to him, more cautious in his motions but at least as weary as his husband.

 

“Poor John.” Greg nearly emptied his glass with his next swig. “What a fucking shitty world we live in.”

 

Mycroft took Greg’s glass from his hand with a sigh and put it on the side table. “While I don’t appreciate the language I do agree with the sentiment.” He looked into Gregory’s immensely deep, brown eyes, filled with tears. He was surprised to feel his eyes burning as well. “I will miss Mary too.” After his quiet statement he pulled up his legs, snuggling up to his husband in a more or less awkward way that allowed himself to hold Gregory as well as being held.


End file.
